Pretty Piece of Flesh
by Simply Shortstack
Summary: And now, even right across the table, he was still a million miles away.


I got really bored and was thinking about my favorite scene in the movie Total Eclipse (which you've probably never seen 'cause half the world has never heard of it) and a little Race/Spot moment came to mind. Please keep in mind this is my first attempt at anything resembling slash, so go easy on me.  
  
I unfortunately don't own any of the Newsies, Disney got to them first. Neither do I own any tiny bits of dialogue or anything from Total Eclipse.  
  
* * * *  
  
It had been a long night. I mean, a LONG night. Late in the evening we all went down to the nearest pub for a few drinks, and a few became a dozen. Amidst all the boozing, I managed to beat quite a few boys out of their week's earnings, not that it was difficult.  
  
After about three hours, half of the boys had gone home. Mush and Blink were still drunkenly singing on top of a table, Jack was passed out in a chair, Skittery and Snitch had engaged themselves in an arm-wrestling tournament, and Specs and Dutchy were in a corner doing who knows what. I'm not quite sure what else was going on, but then I didn't care.  
  
Spot and I had retreated to the back room for a private poker game. I was on the verge of folding, I didn't want to lose any more. Somehow my poker face never works on Spot Conlon, he always knows what I'm holding and usually has something better. Finally he called, and we laid our cards down. I had three sevens, and he had four Jacks. Damn it. I was probably distracted by that gorgeous smirk of his. Or it could've been all the liquor I'd had, I was barely thinking straight.  
  
"That's enough, Conlon," I started to collect my cards while he scooped away my money.  
  
"I was just gettin' started."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Sure, sure."  
  
As he lit up another cigarette, I gazed across the table at him, completely enthralled with his beautiful eyes and full lips. I smiled, remembering all the good times I'd had with those lips, and all the amazing moments of staring into those eyes.  
  
He noticed me staring, he hates when I do that. "What?"  
  
I just shrugged. "Youse just cute ta look at, sweetie." I flashed a grin, and he gave me a tiny smile.  
  
"No more drinks for you, Race." Saying that, he took a long drag on his cigarette and studied me for a moment. I'm not allowed to stare at him, but he can eye me all he wants. Oh well, as long as he's looking at me and not somebody else... like Jack.  
  
Spot kept telling me that it was over between him and Cowboy, but I didn't believe him. When I turned my head, I could see him staring at Jack out of the corner of my eye. They say jealousy blinds people, but I only became more alert every time I saw a smile pass between them and a knowing wink from Jack when they thought I wasn't looking. And now, even right across a table, Spot Conlon was still a million miles away, completely aware of how bad he was hurting me.  
  
"I love youse," I grinned drunkenly at him again, trying to disguise the pain twisting in my heart like a dagger.  
  
He didn't even blink. "No, ya don't."  
  
"Yeah I do, don't tell me what I feel, cause you don't know."  
  
"I do know what ya feel, Race. I know you. And ya don't love me." Spot tilted his head to the side a bit. "Or if ya do, ya shouldn't."  
  
"I'll love whoever I damn well please."  
  
He put his cigarette down and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Whatever."  
  
Now I could study him as much as I wanted, though I don't doubt he knew I was doing it. He was right, he knew what I was feeling all the time. But I never had any idea what the King of Brooklyn was thinking, and he liked it that way.  
  
"Do ya love me?"  
  
Not opening his eyes, only his lips moved. "You're drunk." His voice was steady and icy.  
  
"Do ya love me?" I pressed again, anxious for a response.  
  
"I don't love anybody, ya know that. So stop with the stupid questions."  
  
I grumbled, disappointed, "Ya love Jack."  
  
Now he opened his eyes. "No, I don't."  
  
"Yeah, ya do. Don't even try and deny it. I seen the way ya look at him, ya used to look at me like that." Maybe he was right, I shouldn't have had so many drinks.  
  
Spot sighed and sized me up again. Hopefully we were both drunk enough to forget our conversation by morning. "I.. how can I put this? If I love anything about the Cowboy, it's his body, okay? I love his body, I love your body, it's that simple. Nothin' else matters."  
  
He loved my body? Was that it? You can love anyone's form, but what about everything else? Only the physical part of me was good enough for him? That was too much to bear.  
  
"Not my soul?"  
  
He sighed again, he knew that was the wrong thing to say. "A soul ain't important to me, Race. I mean, eventually your flesh is gonna dry up and rot right off of ya, but a soul's around forever." What an idiot. What a drunken, bumbling idiot.  
  
By that time I was glaring at him, sobering more every second. "You don't wanna be with me cause Cowboy's flesh won't be around forever, is that it?"  
  
"Damn it, Race, you're bein' an idiot." He rested his head on his fist, still eyeing me intently. I could tell he was hoping to talk his way back out of this. "Come on, don't pretend that if somebody like Mush put a little shake in his walk your neck wouldn't snap."  
  
"Who brought Mush into this? I've been faithful to ya, Spot!" I felt every bit of anger that was welling up begin to explode within me. "And I'se still not good enough for ya."  
  
He was still as calm as ever, he might have been talking about the weather. "I never said you should expect me ta be faithful to ya, Race."  
  
"But I love ya, Spot..." looking down to the table, I felt hot tears forming in my eyes. I'd definitely had too much to drink.  
  
Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I tried to stifle any sobs, and attempted to force my tears to disappear. I didn't want Spot Conlon to know I was crying over him. But as always, he had to know what I was thinking.  
  
"Do ya really love me?" his steady voice broke the silence.  
  
I looked up at him, with the traces of my tears still evident in my eyes. "Yeah."  
  
Spot sighed. "Then put your hand on the table, Race."  
  
"What?" I looked at him curiously.  
  
"Put your hand on the table." His voice turned cold and he commanded me just like he did his men in Brooklyn. So I complied and laid my hand on the table. "Palm up." I again did as I was told.  
  
His hand slid across the table to mine and brushed over it gently. His palm was rough and calloused, and I winced a bit. Then I saw his other hand pull out that tiny knife he always carried in his pocket and bring it towards my hand.  
  
I pulled back a bit and closed my fist, and his eyes shot up to mine. "You trust me, don't ya?"  
  
There wasn't need for an answer, he knew I trusted him with my life. So I released the tension in my hand, opening it again.  
  
Closing my eyes for a second, I felt the tip of his knife graze lightly over my palm, and my fist involuntarily closed a bit at the tickling sensation. When I opened my eyes, I saw him smirking across the table. He continued to trace strange designs over my palm with the knife's tip, including the Sign of the Cross. I smiled a bit and brought my eyes to meet his. His smile quickly faded and in horror I helplessly watched his hand come up and shoot back down towards my open palm.  
  
I couldn't find the voice to scream as I felt the knife go almost right through my hand. It was the most excrutiating pain of my life, and I was writhing my arm and twisting my face in agony. I tried to pull away, but all he did was press the knife a bit deeper. As I swore loudly over and over in my head, tears sprang to my eyes and fell down my cheeks while I squirmed in my chair, pinned by my hand to the table and I could feel the screaming in my mind. I looked up, he was sitting there like a statue, his face completely void of any emotion and his eyes empty.  
  
Looking down at my hand, the pool of blood made me feel sick and I had to close my eyes. Sobbing, I tried to beg him to pull the knife out, but all that came out were incoherent wails.  
  
Finally, I'm not sure how long it was, I felt the metal of his knife leave my palm, and the pain was even worse. My hand tried to close up, but it just couldn't. Had Spot branded me so I'd always remember that I love him? Or was it so he'd always remember? Crying even harder, I just kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look at him.  
  
But I could hear his voice, that voice that I loved so much. "Worth it?" And I cried because I knew that it was. 


End file.
